Precious Stone
by ErieDragon
Summary: Crystal and Minnie the Miltank join Silver and Gold on a Johto adventure including the likes of: Baron, Lance, Red, Rockets, some crazy people and a mysterious river mystery. Mysterything.
1. The River

**Precious Stone**

**1: The River**

"Sit her up on the bed." The girl's head lolled forward as her father hefted her up, laying her soaking wet body on the thick comforter. Her mother dried her once more with a soft towel, but the girl didn't open her eyes. "Make sure her hair is dry. Pin it away from her face. I'll take off her clothes and find a better blanket."

The father did as he was told while the mother went off into the house. She returned with a velvety-soft blanket, and wrapped up her daughter in it before putting her under the comforter. The girl's breathing evened a little, and the trembling in her thin limbs tapered off. Soon, she was quiet and asleep.

--

Dr. Sheen returned the next day to look the girl over. She hadn't woken up, but it was still early, and the doctor told her parents not to worry—yet. After a few minutes of talking, however, Crystal opened her eyes and confusedly gazed at the three adults standing around her.

"Hey there," Sheen greeted her, brightly. She smoothed back some of the girl's wild bluish hair. "How are you?"

Crystal blinked a few more times and rubbed her eyes with her palms. "Where am I?"

"You're in your parents' room." Crystal looked at her strangely. "Can't you tell?" The girl shook her head, and looked with skepticism at each of the tall people watching her.

"Who are you?"

The mother and father exchanged looks. "I'm your mother, Crystal. Do your eyes hurt?"

"No," the girl replied.

"I'm your father, Crystal. You must know who we are." She scowled a little, focusing on the faces of her parents. She shook her head.

Then, her mother began to cry. Her father grabbed the doctor's elbow. "Amnesia?" he asked, hollowly, with a hint of anger in his tone. Crystal watched them curiously. "She only fell in the river! How can she have amnesia?"

Dr. Sheen, not looking at the father, shook her head. "I really don't know. She didn't get pneumonia, only a real chill and unconsciousness. Sometimes lack of oxygen to the brain causes short-term dysfunctions—like in Crystal's case—but never amnesia. From what I can tell, she didn't hit her head on anything of consequence, either." The mother still cried, and her husband put an arm around her. He pulled her close, while all three of them ignored the child sitting uneasily on the bed. "I really don't know."

--

Outside the room, outside the small house on the edge of the frosted meadow, the parents stood beside their ten-year-old son. The porch was still wet—and beginning to freeze—where Boston had dragged his unconscious sister to the doorstep.

"Will she be all right?"

The father and mother looked at one another. The meadow, which was usually alive with creatures playing and bugs chirping, was silent; the cold snap had forced the Rattata which usually bounced under the tall grass to retreat, and the bird Pokémon were silent in the trees. The sound of silence was a background to the drama of the Little family.

"I want to tell you she'll be fine," said the father, after a moment's hesitation. He crouched down beside his son, and put an arm over his shoulder. Boston was short for his age, but would grow into his genes, with time. "We don't know. When the doctor saw her before, she said that she will probably pull through—but she can't say if Crystal will be the same." The boy looked at his father and rubbed at his watering eyes.

"What did she see down there, Papa?"

"We don't know."

--

"I want to go there," Crystal demanded, pointing to the farm across the road. It was surrounded by a short, white picket fence. Miltank browsed a far pasture. There was one large barn and a cozy-looking white house. Her brother sighed.

"All right," he said. "But remember: you have to tell them what's wrong with you. You used to be friends with the girl that lives there."

Crystal expressively raised her eyebrows. "Really? Is she nice?"

With a shrug Boston took her hand. They took the path through the meadow and crossed the road. It was still cold out, so they both wore thick sweaters; the frost on the grass had begun to melt, though, and summer looked like it wasn't too far off.

They approached the door and Boston nervously knocked. A voice came from inside: "Who's there?"

"Boston and Crystal," the boy called back. There was some stomping and shouting, and quickly the door was wrenched open by an excited-looking girl of five, perhaps six.

"Come on in," her older sister shouted from inside the house. The younger girl hurried them inside and closed the door behind them.

"It's good to see you," the sister said, addressing Boston. The boy blushed and nodded his head.

"You too, Mila. And Bunny." Bunny, the small girl, smiled at both of them. "Crystal... Crystal wanted to see the house."

The mother of the two girls, a much older woman, came into the kitchen at that moment. "What do you mean? She's here all the time." Boston nodded, adjusted his collar, and cleared his throat. "What's wrong?"

Crystal smiled then and raised her hand. "I lost my memory!" she said enthusiastically. Bunny, not understanding, raised her hand too and the two girls giggled. Mila and her mother, however, each gave Boston a serious expression. While Bunny and Crystal began to talk quickly, the mother invited Boston into the living room.

"I was supposed to be watching her. Well, I was—I looked away for a minute to get the ball that we had been playing with, and when I turned back, she'd fallen in the river."

The mother didn't tell him, "You shouldn't have been playing by the river, anyway." She stayed silent.

"She sank too quickly. I jumped in after her and pulled her out, but once she was above the surface, she started to scream. She was crying out something about something horrible... I don't even know what. She saw something down there. She started to tell me, when I got her onto the ground, but she passed out. When she woke up, she had gotten amnesia."

Boston sighed, and Mila patted his back. The mother looked over at Crystal and Bunny, who were interacting like nothing had ever come between them. "Well, Mila, why don't you take her outside and she can see the Miltank? Wasn't your father working with one this morning?"

Mila's face immediately brightened. "I forgot about that! There was supposed to be a calf born. We'll go out and look."

The four children, after bundling up, went outside. It was supposed to be late spring, but the cold had killed most of the budding flowers. Even some of the grass was withering, despite the fact that the strange weather had only been around for less than a week.

Bunny enthusiastically led the way, guiding the group around the back of the barn. The pasture opened up there, and a few yards off they saw a man crouching over a large, supine Miltank. He didn't stand when the children approached.

"How is it going, Dad?" Mila asked, coming up beside her father to look over his shoulder. He slowly shook his head and propped his head up on his elbow.

"Not too good," he replied. Boston curiously came over to survey the scene: the Miltank breathed deeply, its belly heaving in long, laborious movements. Crystal, who had been laughing and playing with Bunny only a minute before, quickly became calm and walked up beside her brother. "The cold hasn't been good for this one. She probably won't live. I'm just hoping she can get the calf out before she goes."

Crystal inhaled sharply and Boston rubbed the top of her head to comfort her. Bunny had walked around to the Miltank's head and squatted down. The girl rubbed the Pokémon's wet black nose. She mooed weakly and pawed at the friendly face.

After a few moments, the Miltank began to move again. With more effort than Mila and Bunny's father expected, the Pokémon heaved, mooing louder. Bunny comforted her and within a minute or two, the sound of heavy breathing was accompanied by a small, wispy cry; as the mother died, the calf gasped its first gasp of air and rolled like a wet ball onto the cold grass.

Crystal watched the whole event with a kind of distance; it was surreal, like something she remembered from a distant dream, suddenly becoming real. The small creature was brighter than anything she had ever seen, though it stood to reason that her memory was not very extensive. When it opened its large, blue eyes and gazed at her, alone in the world and cold, she felt a kind of innate identification. Without thinking she reached out, dropping to her knees, and took the new baby into her warm arms.

Mila's father watched curiously. He wanted to take the creature inside and see about giving it a new mother; though the procedure occasionally succeeded, the Miltank were usually too busy with their own young or their upcoming young to bother with an adoptee. The neighbor's daughter had always been quiet, and she often shied away from the cows; they were bigger than she was and she had never shown the same interest in them that his own daughters displayed. But now, the little blue-haired girl seemed different. The Miltank stopped crying out and buried its small face into the crook of her arm.

"It's probably hungry," he said at length. He spoke not to the other children—just to Crystal. She nodded her head and rose, not once prying her eyes away from the small Pokémon. The tail hung limply over her hands. The father went toward the barn, and she followed. Boston watched, having no real idea what to think. They left the mother; the next day, he saw a small gravestone had been erected in that place.

--

Boston's parents were not thrilled at first. After feeding the small baby and holding it for a number of hours, Crystal attempted to leave it behind with Mila and Bunny's family, where they would hopefully find a suitable mother. The calf, however, had no intention of parting with her _new_ mother, and cried out miserably when they were separated. Mila ended up bringing the pathetic Miltank over to the house across the street. As soon as the baby saw Crystal sitting at the table eating her lunch, it stopped its whimpers and began to moo loudly. Her eyes rose and watched as her parents intercepted Mila.

"What's that?"

"It wants its mother, my father said," she replied. Crystal's father crossed his arms and glanced over at his daughter. It had only been a few days since her accident. Her gaze was riveted on the little Miltank, who was equally enthralled with her. After a moment Crystal got up and carefully took the Pokémon from Mila. Right away, it went quiet. "It's much smaller than it should be. My sister and I were going to try to raise it, but it cried and cried. It thinks you're its mother, Crystal."

The girl looked at her friends, friends she didn't know she had, friends she had only met that day. Everything was so strange and foreign—these people who claimed to be her parents, this place that was supposed to be her home. But this small Pokémon was more familiar to her than anything. Its big blue eyes appealed to her in a way she couldn't explain.

"Her name is Minnie," Crystal said, as the Miltank grabbed her finger in its mouth and began to suck on it. "Father, mother, I want to take care of her."

Her parents were not thrilled, at first. They let her bottle-feed the small creature. Crystal had always been somewhat solitary; she only really went out to see her friends across the street or play a reluctant game of ball with her brother.

However, she found a kind of solace in her new Pokémon. She spent a day teaching it how to walk in the front yard; they slept together; they played frequently, and Crystal felt a deep sense of responsibility for the little Miltank. Her parents found that she eased back into life quickly and easily, as long as Minnie was with her.

The sun came out and the world warmed up once more. Summer finally came. Minnie was growing fast, and loved to play in the sunny meadow, Headbutting rocks and rolling about. It was one of these days that Crystal saw the red-haired boy for the first time.


	2. The Dragon

**Precious Stone**

**2: The Dragon**

"Lance!" I glanced up from the table. My mother was talking on the phone. She twirled the string of her apron in one hand, staring up at the ceiling as she talked. "How are you, dear? Really? That's good to hear!" She smiled at nothing. "Sure. Boston would love to see you. Yes, Crystal too… All right, dear. Bye bye!"

Minnie mooed from her spot on the chair beside me at the table. She steadily watched me work on my drawing—it wasn't very good, so I crumpled up the paper and pushed it off to the side along with all the other drawings that weren't to my liking. Minnie snorted. "Did you like that one?" She nodded. "Oh well. I'll do a better one."

My mother sat down at the table across from us. Minnie didn't much like my mother, nor my mother Minnie, but they tolerated each other. My mother was always telling her to stay off the furniture; to go outside; to get off the table. Miltank hated being told what to do by anyone but me, so she rarely listened when the old woman bossed at her. She didn't mind my brother or father, though, and rather liked Boston. He gave her treats and knew a thing or two about taking care of Pokémon. He had no intention of becoming a trainer, but he appreciated the art, and often encouraged me to teach Minnie to battle.

"Min," I said, "hand me that orange, will you?" She picked up the crayon in her teeth from down the table and dropped it in my palm. "Thanks."

My mother cleared her throat, but I didn't look up. "A family friend will be visiting us soon," she told me. "Do you remember Lance?"

I sighed. "You know I don't, mother," I told her with a significant lack of patience. I was turning twelve in a week. It had been almost five years since I fell into the river and lost my memory, and the silly woman still asked me questions like that. "Mother" was only a title she had; the word carried no real meaning for me. She was simply another person who told me what to do. I had no attachment to her whatsoever.

"He'll be coming sometime next week."

"You're not going to make me pretend I know who he is, are you? I hate that."

I could feel the frustrated look my mother was giving me. "No. Your father talked to his family a while ago. I think you'll like him, though, Crystal. He's a Pokémon trainer—a good one, I hear." I yawned and finished my drawing. I showed it to Minnie, who gave me a nod of approval, and I smoothed it over with my hand.

"Okay," was all I said, before we got up and went to my room to hang up the picture.

My brother came in, not knocking on the door. My mother said he was acting more and more like a "teenager." He didn't look much different to me: he was still more than a foot taller than myself, and all the girls who lived near us came over to see him all the time. But he talked back more often than not to my parents, and while he was still perfectly the same towards me, he couldn't stand being around them for very long. We often went on long walks, or visited Olivine, or went surfing. He told me that he wanted to be a Pokémon doctor, but didn't know where to start. I liked my brother more than any other person. When he suggested that I try training Minnie, I considered it only because I trusted his judgment; if he said I could do it, then I thought, maybe I could.

"So Lance is visiting?"

I glanced up at him and nodded. "Who is he?"

Boston laughed at me and came in, sitting down on my bed beside Minnie. She gave him an indignant look as he took up most of the space. "Lance is a big-time trainer. He's been taking down gym leaders left and right. He was on television the other day." I gave him a surprised look. "No kidding. If you really want to do this training thing, he's the guy to talk to. You met him when you were little, but you wouldn't remember. His parents live on some islands real far away, but his mother knew ours when they were younger."

I shrugged my shoulders and finished pinning my drawing to the wall. I came over and picked Minnie up, sitting down where she had been and putting her back down on my lap. I played with her ears. "Whatever. I just want to get away from here. I'm sick of this house and these people I don't know. If becoming a Pokémon trainer is what it takes to leave, then I'll do it." Boston nodded his head in understanding.

We were silent for a few moments, until he said, "I saw that boy."

I gave him a quizzical look. "What boy?"

"Remember that red-haired boy you mentioned a few years back?" I tried to remember what he was referring to.

_Minnie had just rolled down the hill when I saw him. He was standing in the trees, partially obscured by the shadow they cast, right on the edge of the meadow. He was watching me, and so when I saw him, I pretended that I hadn't and went on playing._

_He disappeared for a few moments, and then reappeared closer to the road. Men in dark clothes and white undershirts (you could see them under their vests) were with him, all talking. A few wore dark hats, too, and had an indecipherable letter printed on the fronts of their shirts in red. Most had Pokéball belts, and there were one or two Pokémon with them, tied up to trees with ropes. The boy was no longer looking at me. He was arguing with someone—a tall man with dark hair, who wore a long, white suit. Suddenly, the man slapped the boy, sending him sprawling; a few of the others laughed (I could only tell by their movements, for they were too far away to hear) while one, a shorter woman, came over and helped him up. The boy, without looking at the man again, turned around and walked off._

_I tried not to look at him as he came towards me. I was a good distance from my house. He looked about the same age as me, maybe a year or two older; he didn't seem to notice me until he was a few yards away, when we locked gazes._

"_H-hello," I said. Minnie came closer to me. Something about his eyes struck me; it was ridiculous and touching, something that slipped deep into me in a way I'd never felt before. Here was another strange, foreign thing that was more familiar to me than the people who called themselves my "mother" and "father." I was paralyzed. The boy said nothing, and pushing some of his wild red hair away from his face, he turned on his heel and walked off into the woods._

"You drew me a picture of him," my brother said. "It wasn't great, but I kept it in my mind. When I saw him, it came to me right away." Reaching into his pocket, he took out a picture. It was of a man in the same garb as the men I had seen that afternoon. As long ago as it was, I remembered as clear as day. "Is this what they looked like? The men in the woods?"

I slowly nodded my head, feeling a little nervous, like I was incriminating someone. "This is a member of Team Rocket. Whoever that boy was, he was associated with them, somehow." He shook his head. "When I saw him, he was battling another trainer outside of Olivine City. He won handily—but it bothered me. He was very rough with his Pokémon. I just thought you would like to know."

"Did you find out his name?" I asked abruptly.

Boston shook his head and pocketed the picture. "No. But I think that if you go on with this path—with becoming a Pokémon trainer—you'll come across him. When you do, I want to know what happens." He smiled, and got up off the bed. "We'll go surfing tomorrow, so make sure you've got your stuff together."

"Yes, sir!" I said, giving him a mock salute. Boston laughed and left.

--

When I thought of a nationally-recognized trainer, Lance wasn't quite what I expected. He was a boy of seventeen. He had thoughtfully brought me a birthday present, one day early. I never much looked at boys, but as far as they went, he was handsome. He had unrestrained black hair, and was very tall—taller than my brother, and almost as tall as my father. He wore dark jeans and a tight shirt, and to a girl of twelve, he was stunning. But, like everyone else except Boston, he treated me like a child—at least, at first. I resented him, and took my present up to my room to keep unopened until my birthday.

That night, I was tossing a ball up and down as I lay on my bed. Minnie was passed out beside me when I heard a knock at the door. "Come in," I called, not moving to sit up.

The door opened, and Lance came in. I didn't greet him, and he stood there awkwardly for a few moments before he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Annoyed, I tossed the ball faster and higher. He walked over to my desk and took the chair, sitting on it reverse-side so he could support his arms on the back and his knees were propped up to either side.

"Your brother tells me you want to be a Pokémon trainer." Minnie snored. I said nothing, and didn't look up. I was still bruised from the condescending pat on the head he had given me earlier that day. "Did you open your present?"

"No," I said.

"I see." He didn't say anything for a few moments, then: "I think the bond you have with your Miltank is unique. Even though you're young, I definitely believe that with your strength, you could become great." This made me sit up. I put the ball down and looked critically at the boy (who was almost a man) sitting in front of me. "It takes a lot of practice and a lot of commitment, but if you wanted to do it, I know you could."

It took me a minute to calm my sense of dignity and reply, "Really?"

Lance vehemently nodded. "Open it." I gave him a quizzical look. "My present. Open it," he said.

Raising one eyebrow, I got up and went over to my desk, where the unopened gift was dejectedly sitting. I picked it up and gingerly unwrapped it.

Inside was a Pokéball. At first unimpressed, I looked closer and realized it wasn't like any Pokéball I had seen before; it had intricate engravings over the front, with a color pattern of green, black, and white, instead of a simple red and white. When I glanced back over at Lance, he was smiling.

"I had this ball custom made. It's a friendship ball—it symbolizes your relationship with your Pokémon and will allow you to always be strengthening that bond. Your Pokémon can draw power from it." I sat back down on the bed, holding the ball in my hands gingerly. "You can use it tomorrow. Then, I can show you a few things, if you want." He looked almost… nervous?

I only nodded at him and quietly said, "Thank you."

Lance grinned. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. I know you don't remember, but when you were really small, I asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up. You said, 'A trainer! I want to get to the top!' I was listening."

--

I discussed the Pokéball idea with Minnie the next morning. When Lance came outside, I was just testing it out. I picked up the ball and held it up to my ear, wondering if I could hear my Miltank inside of it. Lance laughed at me from the porch. "Let her out now, won't you?"

I held out the ball and called, "Come out, Minnie!" In a flash, my Pokémon was sitting in front of me, a little dazed. We exchanged looks and I laughed. "How was it?" She waved one hoof in front of her nose, like she had just smelled something awful.

"Some like it, some don't," said Lance. "You can probably keep her out most of the time—but other times, you'll have to use it."

For all of the morning and a part of the afternoon, Lance began to teach me how to train and battle. "Try this exercise," he would say, or "Always try to get a one-up on your opponent, if you can."

By lunchtime, I was exhausted. Lance promised we would work more on it tomorrow, before he left. My mother seemed pleased that we were getting along. I think she had been worried that I would shun him like I did to everyone else I had to "meet" after my accident. My father enjoyed talking to him about his advancement as a trainer.

"What is your goal?" he asked.

"I don't have one," Lance replied. "I'm going to get as high as I can go. I'm battling every person who is up for a fight. I figure that will get me somewhere," he said with a laugh. My father agreed, and laughed along with him. I thought it was a little ridiculous that my parents were sucking up to him, but I said nothing and ate my dinner.

--

When I went outside to meet Lance for training, he was different. He had slicked his hair away from his face and looked very serious when I met him.

"What are we doing?"

"We're going to battle." I gaped at him. He couldn't be serious. I wouldn't stand a chance against someone as experienced as he. "One on one."

"But…"

"Ready?"

It didn't look like I had much choice in the matter. "The best way to get better is to test yourself," Lance told me. "Anyway, I think you will be surprised at your own power."

My brother came out to watch as we went a little way away from the house. We stood apart from one another, our expressions serious. He took out a Pokéball and with a deep voice he called, "Go, Dragonair!"

It was the biggest Pokémon I had ever seen in real life. I felt my face grow white as it appeared, running at least ten feet from the end of its blue nose to its thin tail. The round jewels on its neck and tail glimmered in the early sun, and it fluttered its ears.

I quickly recovered myself and took out my own Pokéball. "Come on out, Minnie," I said, and my companion appeared in front of me, less disoriented than before. When she saw Lance's Dragonair, however, she gave me a plaintive moo and took a step back.

"Don't worry," I told her. "I believe in you."

Though this didn't much reassure her, she squared her shoulders and stared down her opponent. Without hesitating I commanded, "Tackle it!"

Minnie was just as quick as I was, and lunged at Dragonair. The force of her body so surprised the snake-like dragon that it easily collapsed under her weight. "Slam it back!" Lance retaliated.

Minnie cried out in surprise as Dragonair lurched, sending her flying back; as she landed on her rear end, the world probably spinning, the dragon lifted its enormous tail and brought it down hard on top of her. "Minnie!" I cried, wanting to run to her aid, but not wanting to end the battle without her permission; she managed to get to her feet, and glaring at her opponent, she lunged again. "Use your Stomp attack!"

Dragonair howled as the blows landed. Minnie got a little carried away, but Lance retaliated with a twister. The dragon's summoned tornado whipped up my little Miltank, spinning her around a number of times before unceremoniously depositing her back on the ground. She swayed back and forth, dizzy; "Defense Curl, Min!" She obeyed, hunching her back and putting all four feet on the ground. She glared at Dragonair, daring it to attack. She was ready.

"Try your Dragon Rage, Dragonair," Lance commanded. The Pokémon raised up its head and with a long half-roar, half-dragon cry, it breathed out a long, green flame. It enveloped Minnie, but I heard no noise; when the foggy lime smoke cleared, she was in the same position as before, nearly untouched. "Now! Tackle again!"

Before Dragonair had recovered, Minnie was on it; the impact knocked the air out of its lungs and it fell back down to the ground. "Summon another Twister!" Lance cried. He wanted to get my Miltank at long range again, I could see—"Stomp while it's down!" I called out.

Dragonair was defeated. It languished on the ground for a moment before Lance recalled it. He took a deep breath and looked up at me. "I'll be honest," he said quietly, "I didn't expect you to beat me. I was going to… I was going to give you a 'learning experience.' But that was arrogant of me. I deserved to be beaten."

I couldn't agree more. I took Minnie inside and patched up the few bruises she had—she was mostly fine. With a short goodbye, Lance took his leave of us. "I know we'll be meeting again very soon," he whispered in my ear. I nodded my head, and watched, wondering, as he left.


	3. The Ghost

**Precious Stone**

**3: The Ghost**

When I was fourteen, I received my mother's permission to leave home. Though it was far later than I would have liked—two years later, in fact—the moment I stepped out my front door with no more than a backpack and a Pokémon was one of the happiest moments of my life. I felt as if I was leaving behind a prison for a whole wide world, full of possibilities, and there was no way to look but forward.

My brother gave me the money he had been saving up since my accident nearly five years ago. "Don't lose," he told me. "Even if you lose one or two battles, never lose the war." Then he gave me the hat he'd made (my brother is such a girl) and promised to find me pretty soon.

My father was just as sad to see me go—though we had never connected as father and daughter, he was a nice man, and gave me a Pokégear and some money. Later, I would find a sack of five Pokéballs in the bottom of my backpack, with a note from my father reading, "Good luck. We'll be seeing you on television soon, I know it."

My mother just hugged me and waved. She would go on with her life in much the same way, and we wouldn't miss each other.

I decided that Olivine wasn't the way to go, if I wanted to see the whole wide world; so we went east, instead, with our destination lying in Ecruteak City. Minnie was more nervous than I was about the whole thing, but the confidence she had gained from her defeat of Dragonair served her well. We fought mostly one-on-one (we encountered three trainers between my house and the city), though once, Minnie faced a Psyduck and a Rattata in succession. Their girl-trainer had been impressed, and offered to buy me lunch.

So it was that I reached my first destination in two days.

I had been to Ecruteak once or twice before, mostly just to see the dance shows or take a tour through the old Tin Tower, which had burned down a few years before. I was pleased to discover that the Pokécenter had an open space, and they let me keep my things there and sleep on one of the couches for free.

The next day, I decided it would do me good to exercise before even considering challenging Morty. I knew he was a ghost-type trainer, but I knew next to nothing about ghosts—so while I found a book in the center's small library and started my research, I had Minnie do rolls and jumping jacks.

What I found was very little of substance, much like the ghosts themselves: "Ghost-type Pokémon are known for their elusive nature," and "few Pokémon can resist the dark powers of a ghost." This was not very encouraging, so I sat back for the rest of the day and thought.

That evening, dinner was served a few minutes past six—the sun was still high in the sky, so children played outside with kickballs and pet Pokémon. As Minnie and I ate, I overheard two other trainers—younger boys—talking about Morty.

"He destroyed me," the first boy said. "I managed to defeat one of his Pokémon—a Ghastly—but his Haunter was too much."

"Wow," said the second boy. "I've heard that Morty has a Gengar, too. I was going to challenge him tomorrow, but now I'm not so sure."

The first boy nodded his head. "The only reason I won against that Ghastly was my Jigglypuff. It seems that normal-type Pokémon aren't affected by ghost-type moves, like Night Shade. I had Puffkin sing it to sleep, and then Fire Punched it out of the ring."

"How did the Haunter get you?"

"It cursed me."

I was startled by this conversation. So, normal-types could resist Morty's ghosts? That must have been what the book meant by "few Pokémon." Curious, I cleared my throat, and the two boys looked at me. Minnie was lounging on the couch, full from dinner and ready to drop out for the night.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I overheard what you said about the ghosts. I want to challenge Morty, too."

The first boy grinned at me. "You do, huh? Well, what have you got?"

I gestured to Minnie, who chose that moment to raise her head and give off a bored moo. The two boys laughed. "You'll be hard-pressed, I think, unless she has some sort of special attack."

"Special attack?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"Just like ghost-type moves don't affect normal-type Pokémon, it goes vice versa. Unless she has some kind of elemental move, you'll be at a stalemate, until Morty curses you, of course."

I was dumbfounded. Thanking the two boys, I got my reluctant Miltank up and ushered her outside. Peeved, she stomped one foot.

"We've got a dilemma," I told her. "We'll have to teach you an elemental-type move, somehow." She gave me a curious look. "Look." I took a small book out of my backpack. It was one of the few mementos I had kept since my accident, when I threw away most of the things in my room that carried no meaning to me whatsoever. "I didn't know what this was until now, but I think I have an idea."

I spent the rest of the daylight hours teaching Minnie what the book labeled "Thunderpunch." It wasn't an easy task, and we hadn't gained much ground by the time the sun dipped below the horizon. We were in a field outside the city limits, and when the night came, I realized I wasn't quite sure how we would get back. I could faintly see city lights, but they soon began to dim and before long, I didn't know where we were.

I could hear Hoot-Hoots in the high trees, and despite a budding worry, the enormous moon overhead was comforting. "Might as well enjoy it," I said, and Minnie agreed, sitting down in the grass. I joined her, propping myself up on my hands as we looked up at the stars. The sky was absolutely clear, and the air was warm with summer—there wasn't much that could go wrong, besides not being able to find our way back.

Minnie's head turned suddenly. "What is it?" I asked her. She got up onto four legs and looked around, her bobbed tail standing up in the air. It twitched. "Do you see something?"

Then I heard it: it sounded like a short gust of wind, but it was close; when I looked around, I saw a brief, dark flash. Minnie had learned how to summon a little bit of electricity, and now, the bauble on her tail buzzed with it. I went to stand beside her, both of us tense and waiting for something to happen. Was it a Pokémon? A person? One of the strange legendary Pokémon Lance had told me roamed the open roads and fields of Johto?

Suddenly, Minnie let out a loud moo, and I saw her flopped back on her haunches. She gave me a dazed look, and when she tried to get up, she stumbled one way, tipping, before falling back again. "What's wrong? Min!"

Then I saw it. Rising up above the grass, the eyes appeared first: they were enormous and almond-shaped, and were the only part of the small ghost Pokémon that was visible in the darkness. I was going to be attacked, but there wasn't much Minnie could do in her state; the Ghastly must have confused her.

"Come on, Min," I said to her, leaning down to rub her head. "Get up. You can do it." She got to her feet, still dizzy, and looked up at the grinning Ghastly. The Pokémon did an acrobatic flip and before Minnie could do anything, the ghost charged.

Minnie gave me a paralyzed, wide-eyed look as the enormous tongue delivered one enormous lick; goosebumps erupted all over her skin, and she let out a terrified moo. "Don't let it get away with that," I told her. "Go after it!" Still a little perplexed, she was recovering; Miltank jumped to her feet and after a moment of swaying to and fro, she ran after the escaping ghost.

I chased them. Ghastly bounced over the grass, while Minnie ran straight through it. Her tail bobbed behind her, giving me a beacon to follow. "Thunderpunch that Ghastly! You can do it!" The Pokémon had decided leading us off into the dark wasn't going to work, and as soon as it turned around, Minnie delivered a punch; it, however, was not charged up, and went right through the little ghost to do effectively no damage. Having recovered from her confusion, she ran back to my side and waited for Ghastly to come after her.

"You're going to have to do it right, even though we couldn't finish the training," I told her. "I have faith in you." Minnie gave me a long look, and then nodded her head. She walked back in front of me; though the ghost was coming in fast, gargantuan tongue out, she pulled her arm back. Her eyes closed and I saw her focus. Slowly, the rippling electricity from her tail ran up her body and into her arm, where it conglomerated around her fist in a small, crackling ball of energy. Just before Ghastly could deliver another paralyzing lick, Minnie reeled around and delivered an electric punch.

It was enough to send the ghost flying back, where it hovered in the air for a few tense moments, and then tumbled to the ground. While Minnie sat down and took a breath, I ran over to examine her fallen foe. I scratched my head. "You really frightened us," I said to the Ghastly, who managed to open its eyes and look at me.

And then it hit me.

I wouldn't be able to beat Morty with an unreliable Thunderpunch; this Pokémon was exactly what I needed. What is a ghost's worst enemy? "Another ghost." Lance, who loved dragons, told me this: "Most Pokémon will resist other Pokémon of the same type—only two types are _only_ vulnerable to their own type: dragons, and ghosts."

"Well," I said, crouching down to be eye-to-eye with the formless Ghastly. "Would you be interested in helping us out?"

It gave me a strange look.

"We have a big enemy to fight. Your power is just the kind of power we need. Would you be interested in helping us? I can't promise anything but glory."

The Ghastly, who seemed to have recovered itself, rose a little into the air. I stood up as well and offered a hand. Its eyes glanced down at my fingers, and back at me; I smiled. "It's up to you. You can come and go whenever you please—I won't keep you against your will. I'm not that kind of trainer."

Lance wouldn't have approved, I knew. He caught all his Pokémon by defeating them in battle, and catching them—the way any trainer might. But I hadn't found Minnie that way, and I wasn't looking to "catch" any new Pokémon. I wanted to beat Morty, and Ghastly would know just how to do it. If you can't beat them, I always said, join them.

The Pokémon thought over my offer for what seemed like eternity. Then, when I most expected it to turn and run, it closed its eyes and nodded slowly. "You'll come?"

I smiled. "Great." It extended a shadowy hand into mine, and we shook. I took out one of the Pokéballs I had been keeping uselessly in my pack. Ghastly waited patiently as I aimed and said, "Pokéball, go!"

The ball easily settled, and when I picked it up, I said out loud, "He really spooked us, didn't he, Min?" Minnie had come over to examine our new companion. I laughed "Spook, eh? It should do." The ball wriggled in agreement in my hand, and I fastened it into my belt. The bright night-light of the Pokémon center had come on, and so we easily found our way back.

--

The next day, I saw Spook in the light: small but wild, bouncing about like a runaway sprite. I decided the first thing we ought to do is build up Minnie's resistance to any moves Morty's Pokémon might have tucked up their sleeves. She stood as still as she could while Spook tried on her every attack in his arsenal: he licked her, he doused her in darkness with his Night Shade, he hypnotized her, he cursed her, and he confused her. By the time he was exhausted and toppled down to the grass, Minnie was so dazed and flustered that I had to dump water from my bottle over her head to bring her back to the real world.

I had seen a good demonstration of my ghastly companion's techniques, and on the inside, I was very pleased. Using my book, Spook and I did our best to perfect Minnie's Thunderpunch, and while she still had trouble using it on the fly, she was getting better. She managed to hit every time, something our resident ghost wasn't too pleased about—but it proved to me that we had a fighting chance against Morty's lineup.

That evening, as the Pokémon scarfed down their dinners (completely drained from the day), I contemplated my strategy. I would have to remember that while Ghastly would be strong against the gym leader's own ghosts, they were equally as powerful over him. I would have to be on the defensive if I was going to win.

I stayed up long after the Pokémon center went to sleep. Minnie used my backpack as a pillow, and Spook had evaporated into a pair of snoring eyes. I went out to stand under the streetlamps.

I was approaching my very first gym battle. I had no idea how I would fare, and with each passing moment, I felt the butterflies in my stomach propagate like Rattata. That was when I heard the singers.

The sound was a pleasant one, like many voices rising together in harmony; curious, I began to walk towards the source of the noise. It led me through the small town towards a familiar-looking, longish building. A man sat outside against the wall, asleep. The sign out front read, "Ecruteak Dance Hall." Light came through the windows, and I could hear faintly people talking and clinking glasses.

When I went inside, a well-dressed woman wordlessly took my shoddy jacket and gave me a number, so that I might get it when I was ready to leave. On the far end of the room was a wide stage, and there danced six women in kimonos. They twirled in perfect unison, following a beautifully choreographed pattern as the music carried on. I moved to an empty table and sat down to watch.

When the music broke again, the six women stopped and began to sing. It was the same singing I had heard outside, but so close, I was mesmerized: they moved to the center of the stage and the indecipherable lyrics twisted around my beating heart. When the music resumed, the six traditionally gorgeous women raised Pokéballs into the air and before them appeared six similar, yet different Pokémon.

I had heard of the various forms of Eevee, but never had I seen them all together. I didn't recognize more than two of them, but that became unimportant as they joined in the dance. It became a steady flow of gracious movement, blended with music and voice, into one marvelous performance. I sat, completely enthralled, until nearly an hour had passed; at that time, the dancers walked off-stage, followed by their Pokémon, to the wild applause of the audience.

Most people filed out then, but a few remained, finishing their drinks and talking about what they had just witnessed. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.

"Did you enjoy the performance?" I jerked my head up. Standing at my table was an older man, his hair making a half-moon and showing distinct tints of silver. His eyes were of the calm, endearing kind, and I immediately smiled at him.

"I certainly did. Are they every night?"

The man laughed. "Oh no. They have practice for most of the week, and perform twice on weekends. Are you visiting?" I nodded. "Then you're lucky you saw them!"

I laughed and agreed. The man sat down with me, and we talked for a quarter of an hour. He ordered us some drinks, and when I attempted to object, he said, "Don't worry about it, you won't have to pay."

He asked me about why I was visiting. When I told him I planned on challenging Morty, we discussed Pokémon training and other things I knew very little about—by the time we were done, I had learned quite a few useful tactics. "Were you a trainer? Are you?"

The man shook his head. "I once fancied the idea, but I never became competitive. I have a Rhydon—we sometimes battle for fun, but we don't make winning a goal. It's all for fun. In fact, he's a dancer."

"A dancing Rhydon?" I asked incredulously.

"He's quite good."

Dumbfounded, I sipped my drink and scratched my head in puzzlement. The old man seemed to find me rather amusing, and so he said, "You seem to have some potential. I lied when I said the girls spend the whole week practicing—they are not just dancers and singers, but trainers, too. If you come during the day on Tuesday, you might be able to battle them. They are very competitive and will give you a run for your money, but if you beat them, I might just have a reward for you."

Not sure what to think of this offer, I nodded my head. "I suppose it's worth a try," I said. "I'm looking for all the experience I can get." The old man grinned at me.

"I thought you might be." He looked down at his watch and looked surprised. "It's about time we close up. I hope to see you that day. Have a good evening!" With that, he gave my hand a quick shake, and left the table.

--

I woke up refreshed and confident. The three of us had breakfast outdoors and without further delay, I thought I would take what was coming to me. Waiting wouldn't do us any good.

I arrived with both Pokéballs in hand near lunchtime at the front doors of Morty's gym. I took one deep breath and went inside.

There was something eerie about the place, not that I had seen many gyms before: dark lanterns hung from the ceilings and the walls were made of a deep-colored wood, so there was very little light to speak of. Strange shadows followed me as I crossed the threshold and the great doors closed behind me.

I couldn't see the far side of the gym, but in front of me was an immense black pit; the floorboards abruptly ended and the floor vanished into darkness. The only thing that appeared to me was a long path crossing the abyss, like a bridge into perdition.

As I moved to take a step forward, I heard a voice that was boyish and yet menacing. "Stop there," it said, "unless you wish to challenge Morty, the Ecruteak City gym leader."

"I wish to challenge Morty, the ghost-type trainer."

"Come on, then, and stop dilly-dallying."

Though I found his choice of wording odd, I proceeded nevertheless with one hand clutching the condensed balls on my belt. I saw shapes move across the walls, but I tried to pay them little attention, and instead I clearly focused my eyes on the wood-and-nails keeping me above what might have been an indefinite fall. I wondered for a few moments how Morty had known I was there, but I imagined he saw the bright light of the world outside when the doors opened, and then I wondered if he was some sort of vampire, hidden away here.

But it might also be that his ghosts like the dark.

I found myself again when I reached solid ground, and my thoughts spun back to the task at hand. Morty stepped out of the shadows and he was not more or less than I had expected: he kept his locks pushed back away from his face, and was no older than eighteen. Many gym leaders were young, but few matched the youthful Misty or the youngest, Bugsy. Morty was no exception, without any particular features, but with a natural scowl that intimidated me from the moment I saw it.

"Well then," he said. "What will it be?" With practiced ease he observed what I had brought with me. "Two on two?"

"Sounds fair," I said. It was then I realized I stood on the far end of a white-painted court—a battlefield. I had walked into the challenger's box and stood directly in the center of my little square. Morty stood opposite me, and without any further delay, an invisible speaker began to talk in an absurdly loud, crackly voice.

"The challenger has accepted the terms of a two-on-two battle. May the best man," there was a pause, "or woman, win."

Clearly, no one was here to state the obvious. It was a fight for the gym badge, and I wasn't going to be easily pushed aside. For now, Spook was my secret weapon. I would, with all good luck, lure the leader into a false sense of security.

"Go, Miltank!"

I could see (I have very good eyesight—abnormally so, doctors have told me) Morty's pleased expression across the wide, wood room. Without words, he held up a Pokéball and a goofy, yet sinister-looking Haunter appeared before us.

Minnie was not fazed by the clawing display the ghost gave her. I immediately launched into my attack—"Go, Minnie, deliver a tackle. Bring it down!"

I had given my Pokémon a quick briefer on my strategy, and so she wasn't bothered by my ineffective order. She lunged at the Haunter and as she passed through it—as she expected. Morty let out a raucous, arrogant laugh. I could taste it. "Didn't do your research, did you?" he called. I gave the best surprised look I could muster. "Moves like that won't touch us!"

The Haunter easily delivered a great, disgusting lick, and Minnie feigned affect; she tilted back dramatically and her grossed-out expression was impressive.

"Well, then," I replied, "I'll have to change my strategy."

Minnie knew what she needed to do, and so before I even spoke again, she was building up electricity; it began in her tail and slowly traveled up. Our ghostly opponent was coming back for another gulp when my Miltank slammed an electric punch into its metaphorical gut.

The effect was classic. Haunter tumbled back like a plastic bag, rolling over once when it met with the wood paneling. It regained itself after a moment and Morty, not one to hesitate, quickly ordered, "Night shade!"

I knew Minnie was affected by the ghost Pokémon's shattering stare, but she quickly pulled out of it and rounded up for another punch. Haunter came in again to lick her, upon its master's command, but its enormous, rolling tongue was greeted with another blow to the face.

Haunter was toppled. Morty unhappily recalled it, giving me a deadly look, and tucked the Pokéball away into his jacket. Minnie took the opportunity to reorient herself and recover; Morty, however, had other plans.

"Gengar, you're up," he said.

I had never seen the fully-evolved Ghastly before, and while it had a measure of playfulness to its demeanor, there was something far more imposing about it than any of its predecessors. This Gengar in particular, I would learn, had a nasty streak: it wasn't going to be above playing dirty.

Minnie was totaled after the first move. She made the mistake of looking directly at her opponent, who, with eyes wide, hypnotized her into a kind of waking sleep; I had no choice but to bring her home. "Too bad," I said. "You did well, though. I'm proud."

It was going to be a tough fight, and there was little chance a mere Ghastly could win against a much more powerful counterpart. But I knew that there was no way I would let this older boy just walk over me—the over-confident way he stood bothered me, and the underhanded glimmer lying just beneath the surface was a fault that I felt should be remedied.

"Spook! It's time to come out!"

He was ready. He knew he was just as vulnerable as he was strong; one thing Boston had always said to me was, "Knowledge makes you stronger. Ignorance and stubbornness are self-defeating." The moment of glory I had promised him had come, and all he needed to do was step up to the plate and do something amazing.

Gengar was faster. Right off the bat, he attempted to hypnotize Spook the way he'd done Minnie; there was no result, however, and my Pokémon immediately responded to my shout of, "Night Shade it!"

Our opponent looked no worse for the wear. The attack had simply bounced off, it appeared.

"Gengar, show this pipsqueak what Night Shade is really about."

Quite suddenly, the wide gym became noticeably darker. Shadows danced hyperactively all about, and all seemed to converge on my small, vulnerable Ghastly, who shrank into the smallest black ball that he could. The move had affected him, I could see, but when the room cleared, he sprung back to his best fighting form and gave me a quick glance. He wanted to know what to do, and I needed to be the one with the plan.

"If that's the way he's going to play," I said, "we'll play." I grinned. "Hypnotize it!"

I hadn't much tested this idea with Spook, but I had confidence that even against a stronger opponent, he could pull it off. The first attempt seemed to have no effect, however, and Gengar remained just as alert and focused as before.

"Too bad," Morty called, chuckling in a derisive manner. "Now, for a special trick: Shadow Ball!"

Immediately, Spook and I gave each other confused looks. Shadow Ball?

We were soon to find out, however, as Gengar put its two claws together. Inside the grip formed a swirling, black _thing_, which upon completion, was hurled like a professional baseball. The matter collided with the small Ghastly and together, the two objects sailed towards me like a runaway freight train.

I ducked just in time. Spook flew over my head. He was spinning out of control, and just before he would have gone over the edge and into the dark pit, he righted himself. With a few blinks and a shudder, the little ghost flew back to the ring and puffed up his plasmatic size in fury.

"Now," I said, quietly enough that only my little Spook could hear me, "I want you to try your hypnosis again. But don't worry—focus, and you'll do just fine."

The Ghastly gave an indiscernible nod. Though I couldn't see his eyes from where I stood, I saw Gengar's, and they suddenly began to cloud over; after a few moments, the lids drifted closed, and the entire Pokémon toppled over like a sack of potatoes. It curled up much like a dog on the floor and began to snore peacefully.

"Morty's final Pokémon is no longer able to fight. The challenger wins the match!"

Morty was speechless, jaw hanging open in a manner I thought was most unbecoming of someone trying to maintain a manicured mystique. Hastily he recalled Gengar, offering a muttering of consolation, and put the ball away in his jacket along with its partner. Then, he came towards me, a little awkwardly. It reminded me of a shamed schoolboy.

"I haven't been beaten in a very, very long time. I'd forgotten what it felt like." He took a deep breath and I came upon the idea that he was about to tell me something profound. "We have been training for a long time, my Pokémon and I. I felt, until today, that achieving some higher plane of understanding was close to me." I imagined what he described, but a grasp on it escaped me. I clearly wasn't a deep thinker like this dark trainer. I allowed him to go on without interrupting. "If a little girl with only a Miltank and a Ghastly can topple me, then I still have far more to learn than I thought."

I didn't mention that Spook wasn't really mine, and that I hadn't really trained him. Instead, I nodded my head and smiled when he graciously placed the fog badge in my palm, and closed my fingers around it. It was almost touching.

"Thank you," I said to him. When I turned to leave, I buzzed with a question and quickly asked him before we permanently parted company. "That shadow ball you used… I've never heard of it before."

Morty gave me a long, contemplative look that somewhat disturbed me. I was absorbed by his strangely dark eyes for the split second between us preceding when he said, "It's a ghost-type move I invented myself." He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out some stapled notes. He offered them to me; it was a gift that I tentatively took. "Here, try it. I'm sure that Ghastly of yours could make good use of it."

With that, he gave me an almost indiscernible bow and disappeared back into the shadows, like he was no more than a shade himself. The speakers above us crackled idly and I left, the great mahogany doors closing behind me with a clang; it marked the true beginning of my journey into the world and life of a Pokémon trainer.


End file.
